To take a few steps towards this goal myself, before I hire someone at a less than nothing salary, because I'll probably borrow money from them too, I have added both the LT's photo-sharing site and my own photo-sharing site to the links, on the side bar. I realize that it is way cooler to put pics in the blog, but until I can hire someone to do that for me, or at least until I can find an easy way of posting pics without first downloading them to my computer, this is the best way.

Currently Consuming: Leftover Roasted Brussel Sprouts, microwaved, with lots of fresh-ground salt and pepper. I assumed I would need the Alfreda Sauce I also got out of the refrigerator, but I guess not--they're surprisingly good plain. That's good because I'll need that sauce for the Shepherd's Pie from LT's Christmas Dinner.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Or rather, occasionally certain things go wrong in my life, and because I'm obsessive and melodramatic, I blow small things completely out of proportion, go crazy, and take my support group with me.

For example: two years ago, when I got fired, got screwed out of the 300 dollars by the bank, and couldn't pay rent, right before T-Town was about leave for a month and a half, I was fairly calm about it, because really, what are you going to do? I called the bank, got them to refund my money, found another job, and went happily on my merry way, paying rent and holding down the fort until T-Town got back.

I always tend to be calm during catastrophic events. There's the time that I was moving, coughing up lungs, and contracting profuse nosebleeds. I kept moving my stuff, asked my mother and boyfriend for help, and hired a truck. There's the time that the water pipe burst overhead, at 2 am, in the apartment that I shared with T-Town. We moved our electronics out of the way, unscrewed the antique light fixture, and split ways to spend the night at our parents, with our respective dogs.

But when I hear the news that a few people I know don't like me anymore? OH MY GOD, CATASTROPHE. THE END OF THE WORLD IS NIGH. My hair falls out. My skin has literally started to flake off. I call people and bitch them out. I shower attention on those who don't need it.

And I focus on what I CAN do, and HAVE done well, already.

A Partial List Of Things That Are Not Fubared In My Life:

LT.My promotion.My security clearance.My house, yet.The four reports I wrote in the last week.Work friends.LT's friends.Singing.Skiing!Night skiing for free because a nice boy found me a ticket!Eating!Cooking!The most adorable girly Christmas presents ever!DIGITAL CAMERA!New jazz CDs!LT!!Family.Old friends.New friends!Paid Christmas vacay!

Many thanks, also, to all of my college friends, who could somehow sense that I needed a little extra love this year and wrote messages, emailed, myspaced, facebooked, and called. I love every single one of you. Sometimes I wish I lived on the East Coast just so I could be closer to all of you. (Okay, I wish that OFTEN. Well, sometimes. You know what I mean.)

Many MANY thanks, last, but definitely NOT least, too all the hometown people wishing me a happy birthday.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

Ferociously proud and somewhat vain, you like to be impressive and to be seen as Somebody Special. You are not timid, meek, or self-effacing, and are rarely content being in the background or in the subordinate position. You are a natural leader, and do not take orders from others very well. You must have something of your own, something creative - be it a business, a project, a home or whatever - that you can develop and manage according to your own will and vision. Whatever you do, you do it in a unique, dramatic, individual way. You like to put your own personal stamp on it.

You are a gambler and an adventurer at heart, one who loves to take risks, to discover and explore new worlds, and to take the untried path rather than the safe, reliable one. You are an independent soul, freedom-loving, and often very restless. You need a lifestyle that provides opportunities for travel, movement, change, and meeting new people. A steady routine which offers much in the way of security but little in the way of space and freedom is odious to you.

Monday, December 11, 2006

My friend Shrew has this unbelieveable quote on her gchat profile: "Sometimes the mind, for reasons we don't necessarily understand, just decides to go to the store for a quart of milk."

I don't know who said it--a quick search on Google has turned up nothing--but I know it's not hers because she couldn't spell "necessarily" right on the first try, not that I don't love her dearly anyway. It's a perfect quote for her, my Partner in ADD, and for me. (Or did I say that already?)

I have good days, where I'm really on, and bad days, where the LT gets worried that I haven't finished a sentence in four hours and I keep staring off into space, and, really, can I FOCUS for JUST TEN SECONDS, THANK YOU VERYMUCH?

For example, suddenly today, after successfully being fingerprinted, making a new girlfriend in the Security Clearance Office, securing (ha!) a temporary security clearance for myself, navigating my annual performance review, and checking on my PROMOTION (yay!) I had a PANIC attack about a social engagement and emailed a friend to say that the LT and I were not going.

And then suddenly I remember that the LT and I had already talked about said social engagement and HAD planned to go!

So I just as quickly emailed my same friend that, wait, haha, I'm an idiot and we ARE going after all! I think? Maybe? And what day is it today? Is the world still round? Hello? Am I CEO yet? Are my eyes still pointing the same direction?

The response: "Oh. My. God. How easily I forget."

...Is that even an answer? Because if I wanted character assasinations, I could just go to my MOTHER'S house, thank you VERY much.

Anyway, I imagine that as my friend CP was typing his response, he was simultaneously emailing his fiance his heartfelt thanks that she was not half as crazy as I am, and also possibly wondering what kind of man the LT is and if he failed horribly in one of his past lives?

But it does not matter! Because although I have started at least five thoughts this weekend that I never finished, I have officially bought the BEST CHRISTMAS PRESENT EVER for the LT, and that, my friends, will make up for a lot of...

Sunday, December 10, 2006

I am drinking a glass of wine so rough that I could chew it, but it's necessary. Necessary because I just got my new Lucky Magazine in the mail and dear God, the eighties, and now the seventies, and dear God, the clothes are so UGLY RIGHT NOW! The Lucky fashion editors may not think of themselves as old, and I'm sure they are happy to return to a time (fashion-wise) which may hold many happy memories for them, but darlings, I was not even born in the seventies. By the time I was born, Ronald Reagan was already in office. I do not remember wide-legged jeans, I do not like vests, and LEATHER BACKPACKS? You're recommending leather backpacks? For the LOVE of GOD.

Anyway.

Also on the disappointment list: the LT and I watched The Sting and Laura this weekend--we chilled a lot this weekend, as we also watched Pearl Harbor, Van Helsing, and Cars--I now wear a size ten and not a six--and I was making a big deal of watching Laura because it's so classic film noir, very big deal at the time, all that, and we watched it and it's so...huh. Some good camera work. And of course Gene Tierney is great to watch. But...otherwise...well. Kind of slow. And really heavy on atmosphere. I'd seen it before, and remember liking it, but...well.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Note: This will NOT be a post about me begging my invisible 300 readers to COMMENT ALREADY, JESUS CHRIST, IT'S NOT HARD. I will never be one of Those bloggers, do you hear me? Never! Okay. Now that that's settled...

I was talking to Roommate (now much previous, but will always be called Roommate in this blog, because why not?) the other night, and I said, in passing, "If you want to see the biggest bruise ever, check out my blog." (And let me take this moment to say that it is now TWELVE TIMES BIGGER THAN IT WAS IN THOSE PICTURES. It consumes my entire thigh, front AND back, and most of my knee. Please do not ask me how you can hit both sides of your leg at once on one, stationary, rock. Should be impossible. HA, HA. Guess it's not!)

Those were some really damn long parantheses.

Anyway. Roommate. Right. I was telling him about The Great Bruise of 2006, or GB'06, as I like to call it, and he said, "I'm already a regular reader of your blog."

And I was surprised. I mean, I always KNEW he could read, but to hear that he read DAILY...

Ha. Ha! Joke! Funny! Anyway. I was surprised because, except for once, maybe twice, the boy has NEVER COMMENTED ON MY BLOG. How would I know he was there, if he hadn't told me?

No, I am NOT one of those bloggers, the ones that beg for commenters. I wouldn't do that, would I? Of course not. I mean, that is just lame and sad. And pathetic. And possibly just plain wrong. (COMMENT, PLEASE. EVERYBODY. FOR THE LOVE OF BLOG.)

But really, it freaks me out a little. I mean, I have a stat counter, I know people read, but you guys are just...out there. Sitting. Reading. Late at night, I sometimes think I can hear you breathing.

Anddddd....perhaps I should just go to bed now.

UPDATE: There was some sort of CLICKING noise outside my window last night. I woke up in a panic, ran around turning off all the lights, (a good idea in any case) and hid under the covers. Cannot wait to sleep in a house tonight that does NOT have gorgeous, hard to secure windows all over the ground floor.

What he didn't say: "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WOMAN. I did not choose a lifetime of hardship and heartache, looking at beautiful sculpted boys, just so I could be forced to look at YOUR PASTY-WHITE FLAB. PLEASE PUT IT AWAY."

On the other hand, the LT, a guy with both his fair share of bruises AND inordinate interest in my thighs, is only too happy to give his opinion of my bruise every time I show him.

I have lived in Seattle most of my life, barring a brief but succeesful college career at Carnegie Mellon, and always ALWAYS the bus system has sucked sweaty goat balls. Buses twenty minutes late, buses crawling down busy streets and blocking traffic for miles, some bus drivers who believe that their buses and passengers are all senior citizens who will die if our speed exceeds 20 mph, and other bus drivers who are trying to pound their buses (and passengers) into submission with gratuitous use of jack-rabbit starts and stops-on-a-dime. As a Seattlelite, I of course have a Starbucks cup surgically implanted into my right hand, meaning that in slow buses, I almost explode with nervous anticipation, and in fast buses, I end up wearing my five dollar coffee. I have started driving instead.

Intellectually, I know that Google cannot fix our bus system, although in my heart I believe that Google can change the world and set the course of the stars. But maybe a useful search engine tool would be some help, in lieu of exploding the Metro Transit office and installing all new cube monkeys. In addition, the highly anticipated light-rail system and Sounder Trains between Tacoma and Everett make the wealth of transit options confusing, although not any more efficient. Please, Google Transit, come to Seattle! We could sure use you.